


Who Do You Love

by god_of_wine



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:42:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23805541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/god_of_wine/pseuds/god_of_wine
Summary: “D’you want to talk about it?” Shane asked, twisting the cap off and leaning forward, carefully closing Ryan’s fingers around the neck, making sure he has a firm hold before taking his hands away. There was no demand in the question, no expectation—it was simply an offer, and in that moment, Ryan had felt like he could cry out of sheer gratitude.
Relationships: Comfort - Relationship, Ryan Bergara & Shane Madej, Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej, Ryan comes to a realization, Ryan's terrified, and Shane is a really good friend, concerned Shane
Comments: 8
Kudos: 98





	Who Do You Love

**Author's Note:**

> From the postmortem:
> 
> Ryan: "I truly, more than anything in my entire life, did not want to be in that building. I've thought about it since—even after we—even after the shoot ended, Shane was nice enough to buy the crew beers because he could see how rattled I was in particular."  
> Shane: "It was like 4am, too."  
> Ryan: "And I sat in his room and my hand was still shaking as I sipped beer. We—this is not—I'm not exaggerating, this is a true story. I was genuinely maybe the most shook I've ever been in my entire life other than maybe the Sallie House."  
> [. . .]  
> Shane: "Also, the end of the episode where we walk out onto the street, that was not even—we weren't like 'let's shoot our final scene out here on the street'. A lot of times we'll be like 'alright, we need a wrap-up scene here'... Ryan just left the building and walked out onto the street. Like, he just left."  
> [. . .]  
> Ryan: "As you guys were packing up gear, you said 'just sit down and take it easy'."

"Well, I've been deep in this sleeplessness  
I don't know why  
Just can't get away from myself  
When I get back on my feet I'll blow this open wide  
And carry me home in good health

God it's been so long  
Wide awake that I feel like someone else  
I miss the way that you saw me  
Or maybe the way I saw myself."

\- "Who Do You Love", Marianas Trench.

Ryan couldn't remember much of the last few hours—the first half of his solo investigation of the Charleston Jail was etched vividly into his mind, but the last half was more or less a pit of nothingness that his entire mind had just fallen right into. He hadn't wanted to go back in there alone. When he and Shane had done their investigation together, it hadn't been that bad, but that's how it usually was with Shane. That's how it always was with Shane. Even in the darkest recesses of his mind, the ugly depths of his anxiety, Shane was the one constant, the one hand that could pull him back to safety and sanity. But Shane hadn't been there, on his solo investigation, and all Ryan had been left alone with was his fear.

He could barely remember the door to the building opening, his consciousness flickering in bits in pieces like some awful fever dream. He could, however, remember it taking everything he had not to launch himself into Shane as he opened the door, to seek refuge in his chaotic calm, to breathe in that familiar faint smell of soft mint and the lingering warm scent of laundry detergent in his clothes and know he was unquestionably safe. He hadn’t, though; with too-wide eyes and a kneejerk nervous smile, he’d just stepped shakily back across the threshold of the building. “Fuck that. Forever.”

“Sounded like you went through some stuff in there,” Shane half-laughed, attempting to inject some humour into the situation as he leaned against the door, staying close.

Ryan hadn’t taken the bait, though, unable to even think about joking, barely able to even keep his feet under him. “Let’s leave.” Later, when he watched this clip back, he would be grateful that he had managed to keep the pleading and the desperation out of his voice.

That had been the point where Shane had flipped a switch, concern outweighing the regular teasing dynamics that had defined the years of their friendship. Ryan could vaguely remember being urged to sit down, to relax while everyone else packed up their gear, dazed and feeling like he was watching through someone else’s eyes, barely even there. He vividly remembered those dark, downturned eyes suddenly being on his level though, a cool bottle of water being pressed firmly into his hand as Shane crouched in front of him. A warm hand on Ryan’s knee as Shane pushed himself back onto his feet, awkward and tired. The warmth of the touch lingered, and for a few moments, Ryan could breathe again, the unopened water bottle clutched loosely in his hand.

But the warmth had faded, and it all just began to feel like too fucking much. He'd walked out onto the street, away from the jail, with all his camera equipment still on. He just hadn't been able to stand sitting near that building for one instant longer, every nerve in his body trembling—screaming—for him to move, to get away, to escape. He'd stood out on the street in front of the jail trying desperately to catch his breath, barely even registering the foggy, half-dreamt voices calling after him in concern—but he had heard Shane's.

"Ryan, Jesus, man, slow down."

That heavy, calming hand on his shoulder, drawing him in, bringing him up short. Ryan had just stared at him, wide-eyed, living in a permanent dichotomy of either too many words, or none at all.

"Ryan, hey. Ryan. C'mon, it's fine. You're fine." Shane's voice had been quiet, firm, present.

"Guys, we gotta get some kind of wrap-up scene—" A disembodied voice from one of the crew, beyond Ryan's sphere of comprehension. Shane had waved them off, had said something placating, returning his attention to Ryan. No matter what, Shane always managed to have his attention focussed on him—guarding, protective.

"Ry, c'mon, hey." That big hand squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "It's okay."

Ryan had just nodded dumbly, and they had stood there in silence for a few moments, Ryan breathing in deeply, Shane lingering there, a stoic talisman against his fears. “You up for this?” He’d asked, and though Ryan knew they had to shoot a wrap-up scene, he also knew somehow that if he said he couldn’t do it, Shane would make sure he didn’t have to and wouldn’t force him. Shane would take care of it, and somehow, knowing that gave him the ability to tap into whatever strength he had left tonight.

“Yes,” he managed, his voice a little too breathy, a little too rushed. “Let’s get it over with.”

“Alright,” Shane had stepped back, his hand withdrawing. He’d given Ryan a short, reassuring smile, and had signalled the crew, letting them know they’d film the last bits they needed out here. He knew Ryan well enough to know that there was no way they’d be able to get him to go near that fucking building again.

Shane had stood close to him while they filmed, barely ever taking his eyes off of Ryan, body leaning towards him and hands held in front of him as if he were expecting Ryan to need help standing at any given moment... or maybe like he was still a flight risk that might need to be contained. His voice had been soft, careful, and devoid of the usual taunting and witticisms that would normally have defined this conversation. Whatever Ryan babbled breathlessly about, the older man was there to listen and accept it, and Ryan had never been more grateful for anything in his life when Shane brought things up short and insisted that they just needed to leave.

It wasn’t until they were back at the hotel that Ryan realized he was still wearing his ghost hunting rig, but he couldn’t summon the energy to take it off. Shane had stuck close to him the entire journey back, a quiet shadow that was ready with a calm smile whenever Ryan looked his way, so it felt odd now that he was sitting in the room alone. Shane had bought beer for everyone and was currently tending to loose ends and saying goodnight to the rest of the crew, sparing Ryan having to play at the niceties he clearly wasn’t up to. Being alone in the silence was worse, though, and his mind kept replaying moments from the jail, feeling that—whatever it was—brushing past his side, and then the other…

He had been fumbling half-heartedly with the rig and hadn't heard Shane re-entering the room, even when the taller man apparently lost his grip on the door and it slammed shut, eliciting a soft “fuck, sorry”. He nearly jumped a foot off the bed when Shane’s fingers brushed his shoulder, trying to get his attention.

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ,” Ryan gasped, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands, trying to slow his breathing. "Jee- _sus_."

“Fuck, man, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were that checked out,” Shane had apologized, genuinely contrite. He held out a beer bottle, not touching the younger man again just in case it elicited a similar reaction. “Here, drink this.”

Ryan had drawn in a deep breath, straightening again and weakly accepting the beer, fumbling hopelessly with the twist-off, unable to force his hand to close tightly enough around it to open the stupid bottle. Shane, who had taken a seat on the floor next to the bed, leaning casually against the wall so as to be close but not to crowd Ryan by sitting next to him on the bed, had watched him for a moment without comment. He'd set his own bottle on the floor and had reached out, his fingers crooked in silent request. Ryan handed him the bottle, feeling ridiculous.

“D’you want to talk about it?” Shane asked, twisting the cap off and leaning forward, carefully closing Ryan’s fingers around the neck, making sure he has a firm hold before taking his hands away. There was no demand in the question, no expectation—it was simply an offer, and in that moment, Ryan had felt like he could cry out of sheer gratitude.

Ryan sat there and sipped his beer, unable to stop the tremors from running through his body, his hands trembling. He didn’t respond right away, but Shane didn’t push him, he simply reclined against the wall and sipped his beer, watching Ryan through half-closed eyes, the beginnings of dark smudges forming underneath. “I was so fucking scared,” he finally whispered, voice barely there at all. “I am. I am so fucking scared. I’m such a coward, Shane, Jesus Christ. As soon as I was alone in there, I just—” He swallowed heavily, feeling like he wanted to gag. He quickly brought the bottle to his lips, gulping down a few heady mouthfuls, almost choking on them.

“Ry,” Shane shook his head, raking his fingers back through his hair, making the myriad strands stand up on end haphazardly. He looked like a startled porcupine, and Ryan couldn’t help but feel comforted by the sheer ridiculousness of it. “You’re not a coward. You know I think it’s all bullshit, there’s no spooky ghosties in there as far as I’m concerned, that doesn’t make me brave. But you think there is, and you still go in there, man. That’s not being a coward.”

“I lost my fucking mind in there, Shane! I don’t—I don’t even remember half of it. All I remember is just…” He almost lost his grip on the bottle, and suddenly Shane’s hand was there, closing around his, fingers pressing against his own, pressing into the bottle. Security. Safety.

“Careful,” Came the quiet voice, so steady. So unshaken, always. Soft, like it had been when filming the wrap-up, careful not to spook him. The hand didn’t withdraw, and Ryan relaxed a little into that warmth of skin-on-skin, that temporary nearness that he always craved when he was this afraid.

“I can’t shake it. I’m so fucking scared, Shane,” Ryan had whispered, his voice breaking a little in fear and shame and sheer misery. He didn’t know why he continued to do this to himself, didn’t know why he craved this kind of feeling knowing how terrified it made him. Was he a masochist?

“Ryan,” Shane’s grip had tightened briefly before releasing him, the taller man unfolding himself from the floor and settling himself with an awkward gracelessness on the bed next to Ryan, wrapping a gangly arm around his shoulder. “C’mon, c’mere. You’re alright, it’s okay. It’s done.” He drew Ryan’s body into his, cheek resting naturally on the top of Ryan’s head, their thighs grazing against each other. “Season is over, man, we can get back to the murdery mishaps and away from all the spooky spectres. You’re safe.”

And Ryan believed it. He had leaned into Shane’s body instinctually, his eyes squeezing shut, trying to regulate his breathing before he made a total fool out of himself. He had forced himself to redirect his thoughts, to focus on the present—Shane’s warm breath fluttering against Ryan’s hair, the rise and fall of his chest against Ryan’s side, the firm press of his fingers on Ryan’s upper arm, the faint brush of his knuckles against Ryan’s thigh as he shifted…

An intrusive thought slipped through the cracks, jolting Ryan out of this reverent inventory. He craved this comfort—he went out of his way to make himself miserable, terrified, on the off-chance that it might result in some touch from this man, some word of comfort, a moment of those eyes on him in that way that made him feel like he was the only thing Shane was concerned with in the world. He’d never fully realized it before, but now that he was faced with it, he couldn’t escape it for the truth it was. He wanted these moments where he could believe that there was nobody else in the world but him and Shane, that there was nobody else in the world that Shane wold prefer to spend time with, to comfort, to accidentally brush his knuckles against—

He knew he should sit up and pull back and put some distance between himself and Shane. The man was his best friend, and he had a long-term girlfriend, for fuck’s sake. Shane wasn’t trying to be anything other than a concerned friend. A good friend. He didn’t deserve Ryan thinking about him this way, didn’t deserve him subconsciously always trying to steer things this way.

But he didn’t move.

And Shane didn’t move.

And suddenly the jail wasn't what was scaring him, anymore.


End file.
